CHAPTER 116: EDIT

Twelve years ago

The moonflower garden.

The morning was sweet and golden, sunlight slipping through the leaves like soft lace. Birds sang, and the air smelled of dew and spring. A boy of twelve stood at the edge of the garden, his eyes wide, his hair falling untamed across his forehead. It was André.

And before him stood a woman, tall and graceful, dressed in pale silk. Her hair was black as ink, her eyes a clear blue that seemed to hold the entire sky. She was bending over the moonflowers, her hands gentle as she brushed the leaves, her lips moving as though she were speaking to them. The boy smiled just watching her.

She was the late Duchess Odette Orvelien. His mother. The light of the chateau.

André tilted his head, curiosity dancing across his face. "Why do you love these flowers, mother?" he asked softly. "They never bloom. They look... sad."

Odette chuckled, the sound like bells ringing in morning air. She glanced over her shoulder at him, eyes warm with that infinite patience only mothers carried. "My sweet boy," she said, "they are not sad. And they do bloom. They are simply shy. Shy from the sun."

André frowned. "But when? I have never seen them bloom."

She smiled and brushed his cheek with the back of her fingers. "That is because they only bloom under the moonlight, my darling. When the world is quiet. They are special. Very special. They need great care and devotion. If they are properly tended, they will bloom beautifully. Just like you, my beautiful sweet boy."

André’s lips parted. His young eyes shone with a mixture of awe and confusion. "Like me?"

"Yes." Her voice softened into a whisper, as if she were speaking a prayer. "You are special, André. You need care, patience, and love. And you will grow into something beautiful, stronger than anyone imagines."

His chest swelled with a pride he did not yet understand. He looked at the flowers again, then back at her. "Will you always take care of them?"

Her smile wavered, just slightly. A shadow crossed her face, but it was gone before he could notice. "One day, I will leave them to you," she said quietly. "Promise me, André. Promise me you will take care of them then."

His face lit up. He nodded eagerly, his boyish voice firm with conviction. "Yes, I will. I will, mother."

Her eyes glistened. She pressed a kiss to his forehead, her hand resting against his hair. "My sweet boy."

---

Back in the present

Midnight.

The orchard was silent. The world felt colder beneath the moon. The moonflowers stood still, their pale buds closed, waiting for the right hour to reveal themselves.

André stood alone in the garden. He was no longer twelve, no longer innocent. His eyes, now sharp and shadowed, swept across the flowers. He could hardly breathe.

His lips parted in a whisper. "I broke my promise. I am sorry, mother."

The words fell heavy into the night. His shoulders sagged, his face so sad it could make the moon weep. For a moment, he looked nothing like the wicked duke, nothing like the man who laughed in chaos and teased women till they screamed. He looked like a boy again, lost in a world too cruel.

The sound of soft steps made him turn. Madame Lefevre appeared, her figure stiff as ever, her face carrying its usual lines of severity. She was known for her bitter tongue, her strictness, her lack of mercy with the servants. Yet tonight, even she seemed gentler.

"I saw you coming here, your grace," she said, her voice quieter than usual. "Is everything well?"

André’s gaze lowered. "I forgot about this place," he admitted. "It has been so long." His throat tightened. He forced himself to straighten, his voice low. "Thank you for tending to the garden. She... she would be happy."

Madame Lefevre’s lips pressed together. For once, her sharp eyes softened. "Her grace Odette was the light of this house," she said firmly. "Even I am still grateful to her. I will always be."

André looked at her, startled by the sincerity. Then, slowly, a sad smile curved his lips.

---

In her chambers

Vivienne paced the floor like a caged animal. Her candle flickered, shadows bouncing across the walls. She should have been sleeping, but her mind was restless. She had seen the way André turned when he left the orchard. His eyes, the heaviness in his step. Something about it gnawed at her.

"Why the hell do I care?" she muttered, dragging her hands through her hair. "I hate him. I want him dead. I want him six feet under with worms crawling through his teeth."

She sat on the bed, glaring at the wall. Her chest felt tight, her mind unsteady. "Bloody hell, Vivienne. You are scolding yourself for worrying about that lunatic. Worrying about him. The same man who would eat cake off your body without blinking. Pathetic. Absolutely pathetic."

But another thought slid in, sharp and cunning. She froze, then smirked. "Wait. This could be good. Very good. In fact this is fucking excellent. If he is sad. Then he is vulnerable. And if he is vulnerable, he might slip. Secrets. Truth. Something I can use. Yes... this is the chance. A chance to actually find that fucking vault and get the fuck out of this place."

She laughed bitterly, covering her face with her hands. "What the fuck is wrong with me? Caring for a man I should be poisoning. No. Not caring. Using. Exploiting. That’s all."

Still, her stomach twisted, because deep down she knew. Something in his sadness had unsettled her. Something in his eyes had looked almost human. And she hated that more than anything.

She slammed that thought down instantly. "Shut up, brain. Don’t you dare make me soft. He is not lonely. He is fucking rich. He is crazy. He is a crazy man. And if I do not bite him first .